*****
Many hours later, Rostam stirred. A light snuffle beside him made him turn his head, and there, next to him was Tamura, fast asleep. She was the first woman he had been with, and he was still in a state of total awe. But instinctively he was listening to the sounds beyond the chamber, and he knew it was time to leave. He felt a pain on the skin of his back, and remembered how she had raked him with her nails as she climaxed, grinding her pelvis into his and biting his shoulder till he growled with the pain. She had told him later that she had wanted to scream out loud but had dared not. That had precipitated another frenzied round of love making. He realized that what he had done had been utterly reckless, but he would not have changed anything, not even if his life hung in the balance.
His life! Oh God! What on earth was he still doing here? He had to get out of the palace! Capture meant torture and death. He eased his way out of the bed without disturbing the sleeping woman, who lay curled up in a ball alongside him. Even so, he wanted to take her in his arms and make love to her yet again. But it was time to leave. He realized that there would be sentries at the door, but there was a window. Rostam slipped into his clothes and quietly buckled on his belt and sword, then made sure he had his knife within easy reach. He tip-toed to the servant’s quarters where the two servants slept the sleep of the innocent, and retrieved his bow and the arrows without waking them.
Reza had trained him well. The window opened out onto a ledge, which ran the length of the floor. It was still dark, but there were indications that dawn was not far off, so he moved quickly and silently until he could descend onto a balcony. He looked down at the inviting grass of the garden below and was just about to drop the fifteen or so feet to the ground when he saw a movement in the bushes next to the small doorway that had been his objective. A leopard’s head emerged, and it stared right up at him.
Rostam froze. Dear God! he thought. His mind whirled. This was the first time in his life he had encountered a great cat, and he instinctively went cold. He looked around for another route, and realized that the only way to the battlements left open to him was along the roof. Swinging himself up a wooden pillar, he eased his way over and up onto the tiles, and finally gained the rounded ridge of the roof. He rose to a crouch and made his way along the tiled surface towards the beckoning parapet and ultimate safety. It was damp with dew and treacherous under his feet, so he proceeded with caution.
He glanced down in the direction of the cat to find there were now two of the beasts. Their baleful yellow eyes followed him with interest, as though they were waiting for him to slip and fall. Gritting his teeth, he moved along the ridge of the roof as silently as he could, but then a new hazard presented itself.
A figure rose from the darkness of one of the corner pieces of the parapet and stared at him. Rostam froze once more, but then the figure beckoned to him. He wondered if Maymun or Khuzaymah had returned to find him; the man was dressed much as he was, and had his face covered. Rostam waved to the figure, acknowledging its presence, then re-focused on the ridge and gaining access to the parapet where the figure stood waiting.
Still unable to see who it was, Rostam became more wary. The man seemed more slight of build than either Maymun or Khuzaymah. He slowly drew his knife and held it close to his side as he negotiated the last few paces of the ridge work.
The figure on the parapet must also have felt that something was amiss, because he stepped back a pace and called over in a harsh whisper, “Is that you, Mahmud? Where have you been? I have been waiting for an hour!” Then the figure went still. ‘You are not Mahmud! Who are you?” he hissed, drawing a knife and holding it out in front of him.
By this time Rostam realized that the other was one of the assassins who had been sent to deal with the minister. He had to get past him, but the man had other ideas.
“You will die anyway. I shall avenge my comrades who died in those accursed tunnels!” he lunged, and his long knife flashed so closely to Rostam’s belly that he had to arch his torso to make sure it didn’t gut him. His own knife snapped forward aimed at his attacker’s eyes, but the assassin was fast. He danced back with a hiss of breath and went into a fighting crouch, his blade flickering in the poor light. Rostam parried another lunge and made one of his own; it came close but his opponent easily evaded it. Rostam was very careful not to commit too far. He realized he was up against an experienced fighter. This man would take advantage of any tiny mistake he made, of that he was very sure.
Time was also the enemy; while they fought it out, any one of the sentries posted on the battlements might notice the two dark figures, dancing about and waving knives at one another, and sound the alarm. Somehow he had to finish this as speedily as he could. His opponent obviously felt the same way, and after a clever feint he stepped in for a deep lunge at Rostam’s midriff. With a hard downward strike Rostam slashed his forearm, causing the man to grunt with pain and pull back. But he was not done. With another grunt he attacked ferociously, lunging and slashing, forcing Rostam back until the gap he had just crossed from the building roof was right behind him. He took a backward pace and skipped onto the narrow tiled ridge, shuffling back the way he had come.
His opponent followed as though to deny him any respite, but Rostam knew he had one advantage. The man’s knife arm was hurt and bleeding copiously; spots of blood were even landing on him as the man weaved his knife about with bewildering speed. But then he flicked the knife into his left hand and continued to come forward. Rostam met him, this time knife to knife, which made a harsh, rasping sound. Remembering his training, Rostam forced the knife out with his own and spun slightly away, then kicked hard, using the edge of his right foot to strike the assassin’s knee cap, then landing in a crouch to regain his balance. His reward was a gasp of pain, and the man fell to one knee. Rostam barely managed to retain his own precarious footing on the slippery ridge. He glanced briefly downwards, and sure enough the leopards were keeping pace with their potential breakfast. It was time to put some of his other training into effect.
Rostam struck again with the same foot, but this time at his opponent’s head. The edge of his foot landed hard and knocked the assassin off the ridge to tumble down the tiles and land on his belly. He slid towards the edge, taking some tiles with him. He scrabbled frantically for a hold, but it was too late. He went over the edge to fall with a scream to land with a thump on the ground below.
Ignoring the screams and growls that followed as the leopards indulged in an unexpected feast, the scent of blood having had already whet their appetites, Rostam raced for the parapet once more. He slipped over the edge of the wall out of sight of the now alerted sentries, who came running along the wall to investigate the screams. It was a simple matter to drop to the ground below, although it was a long way down. He rolled and regained his feet just like a cat, only to find dark figures coming out of the shadows all around him. There was no escape from these sinister looking people, who had appeared as though from nowhere.
His heart racing, Rostam drew his sword and held it en garde as the figures converged on him. Then he heard a voice that was very familiar. “It’s Rostam! Where in God’s name have you been, Lord Rostam?” Junayd did not sound as though he was very pleased. “We have looked all over for you!”
*****
Junayd was understandably annoyed with Rostam.
Khuzaymah and Maymun, looking harassed and worried, had finally reappeared in the dark hours before dawn, after conveying the old man to the only place they thought safe enough: aboard the ship in the harbor. They had returned to find the palace in an uproar and soldiers everywhere. Anxious to find Rostam, they had made a vain attempt to return to the cellars, but there had been men at all the entrances, and a deadly hue and cry could be heard from below.
Reluctantly, they had slipped away from all the fighting and mayhem in the palace itself, keeping an eye open for any of their ‘cousins’, as Maymun called them. They’d joined Junayd to wait for any sign of Rostam. When tha
t worthy had finally appeared at the back entrance, they had surrounded him with a view to finishing him off, should he prove to be one of the assassins who might have evaded the soldiers.
Now all three gathered round him.
“Whatever happened to you?” Maymun demanded.
“Whose blood is this?” Khuzaymah asked, alarmed.
Much to Rostam’s embarrassment, Junayd’s sharp nose picked up on something else. “You smell different, Lord,” he remarked in a low tone to Rostam, after he ascertained that the boy was all in one piece.
“Yes, um, er, listen, Junayd. I am very sorry about the delay. I, er, I got lost, and the slave hid me until it was safe to get out. Also,” he added with a look at his two companions, “the leopards were running loose in the garden, so that path was denied to me.” That shut them up, and he added, “While I was making my escape across the roof, I ran into one of the assassins and we had a fight.”
“I will assume that he lost the fight,” Junayd commented, his tone dry.
“Those, um, those cats got him in the end,” Rostam said, hoping that there would be no more questions about smells and such like.
“You do kind of smell funny, Lord,” Maymun said. His face was deadpan. “Did you fall in with the leopards? They don’t normally smell like that, as far as I know.”
“I have smelled that perfume before… somewhere. Oh, yes, indeeed,” Dimitri said with a snort of laughter.
“Hmm, you are right, Maymun. He does smell odd. Not bad, mind you, but not how he smelled before he went into the palace, from what I recall,” Khuzaymah said. He twitched his nose to emphasize his point.
“Listen, you two…” Rostam began, but Junayd, who had a shrewd idea as to what may have occurred, interrupted.
“We have the old man on the ship. We all need to go there at once, and I will tell you what I found at the villa,” he said. “Come. Lord Rostam can tell us all later what he was doing for a couple of hours while we all risked our lives searching for him and waited for him out here in the cold.”
Maymun and Khuzaymah chuckled, and Rostam grinned ruefully in the darkness. His companions were not going to let him off.
“Dimitri,” Junayd continued, “you should come with us to speak to the old man, but it would be best for you stay back in the shadows and not show your face at all. The old man knows that you exist, but he should not know who you are.”
They jogged off through the still, quiet streets to arrive at the harbor, which was deserted at this hour, so it took little time to answer the challenge call from the alert guards on the ship and step aboard.
With Junayd leading the way, they entered the main cabin, where they found Diocles seated on a bunk with his hands clasped together between his knees, looking dazed and very nervous. He didn’t know, even at this time, whether he had escaped the clutches of Zenos only to be abducted by people planning a coup of their own. Yet he sensed that, although these men did not want to be identified, they meant him no harm. The youth, his face covered closely, resembled the one who had rescued him, and greeted him politely enough.
“We hope that you are not feeling too indisposed,” the young man said.
Diocles waved one of his bony hands in the air and replied, “I think I am in your debt for taking me out of the dungeons. Somewhat of an irony, wasn’t it? I have sent people there myself before. I am very grateful to you for having taken me out of there. God bless you.”
The first man to have entered the cabin leaned forward and said, “We felt it would not be a good thing to leave you captive, but there is other news that you should consider.”
Diocles shut his eyes. He feared more bad news. Nevertheless, he said, “What is it? Please tell me.”
“Firstly, we know the lady is safe,” Junayd said with a sideways glance at Rostam. Old he might have been, but Diocles still had his faculties about him. His nose twitched at a familiar scent in the air.
“Ah,” he said. “What with all the noise and fighting, she was a concern. It is good to know she is safe. Is there something else you wish to tell me?”
The first man then said, “I am here to tell you that the man who is called the Gatherer of Information is dead.”
Diocles gasped, and even the youth seemed surprised at the news. “Where, how… how did this happen?” Diocles stammered. “Did you..?”
“No, we did not. But I have seen his body and I can tell you he is very dead. The same people who came to the palace also went to the house of the Ambassador from Constantinople.”
“How do you know all these things?” Diocles demanded, surprise and shock in his voice.
A bulky man standing against the wall chimed in. “It is enough that we do know these things; and be glad, old man. If we had not intervened, you might not be alive now.”
Diocles nodded his head. “Don’t think I am ungrateful,” he replied, “but it comes as a shock. Did they kill the Ambassador, too?”
Junayd shook his head. “No, but they left a message. I think we will see his ship depart with the dawn.”
The youth spoke up. “A knife?”
The first man nodded. “The bodyguards were slaughtered, but he still lives—if he doesn’t die of a heart attack when he sees what has happened.” His tone was very dry.
“We will leave in the morning, and you will come with us to be our guest for a while until things settle down, then we will find a safe place for you to live,” the youth said.
The man by the wall, whose face and form were indiscernible in the shadows and blocked from Diocles’ view by the four other men, interjected. “I have another idea; that is, if we can all agree upon it,” he said.
They all looked at him expectantly.
“As I see it, we have proof that this Zenos, your chief enemy, is now dead.” He addressed the Chief Minister. “The assassins have been eliminated, as well as many of the mercenaries, the men who were protecting Zenos. If I am not mistaken, those who survived the attack on the castle will want to leave, and in a hurry. Especially when they discover that Zenos is dead.”
“Go on,” Diocles encouraged the man. He continued slowly. “That means that there will be no one in the palace to dispute your position any more, Chief Minister. Very few of the Emperor’s staff even knew you had been taken prisoner. Zenos knew that he could not move against you without strong proof, for you are respected. That means that you might be free to return and resume your duties.”
A long silence ensued as the people in the room considered this notion.
“Well, Chief Minister, what do you think?” the youth demanded. Diocles gave a thoughtful nod. “Perhaps you are right,” he said. “But how do I get back in? And how will I know if there are not some mercenaries who will hold a grudge because of the killing of Zenos?”
The first man spoke up, casting a look at the youth for confirmation—a show of respect that Diocles noted. “We could provide you with two bodyguards,” he said.
The youth nodded emphatically, and the older man in the shadows spoke up. “Our people will look out for you in that regard, but if we are going to do this we must hurry. Dawn is almost upon us.”
“Very well,” the young man stated. So, clearly, for all that he was the youngest, he was in charge, Diocles decided. “I agree we can give it a chance. When does the Emperor return, Chief Minister?”
“He is due to return tomorrow, if he abides by his original plan, although that is far from a certainty,” Diocles stated.
“So we have a little time for you to calm the palace down and take control?”
Diocles smiled for the first time. “This Lord Talon of yours is certainly surrounded by enterprising people. But what shall I tell the Emperor?”
Tell him the truth,” the bulky man advised. “Always better in the long run; and besides, when the people in the villa wake up there will be no hiding what happened. The Gatherer of Information was murdered for his treachery. It is my guess that he crossed the Old Man of the Mountain, Rashid Ed Din.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Diocles said, “but know this, he told me something else that concerns all of us.”
The cabin went still as they all paid attention. “Zenos in his rage spoke out of turn and said that an invasion by the Emperor of Byzantium is immanent.” He could not have riveted their attention more if he had lit a Greek Fire bomb and tossed it in amongst them.
There was a hiss of breath from more than one person, then silence, finally broken by the young man. “We must alert the castle immediately. But are you sure you heard him correctly, Chief Minister?” he demanded.
“As sure as I can be, given that the man was raging at me and didn’t care what he said because I was going to die anyway,” Diocles affirmed.
“Dear God, but this could be very bad,” the shadowed man muttered.
“Not… not if I can make it known to the Emperor in the right manner,” Diocles told them. “Leave that to me for the time being. If I cannot manage, I will notify you by the usual methods.”
“You should go, Minister. Please do keep us informed as to how this matter is resolved!” the first man urged. “Go with God, Minister.” He looked over at the two men who stood silently, their faces concealed. “You two will know how to get him in, not forgetting the leopards. Stay with him for as long as you deem there is a need.”
Both men touched their foreheads in acknowledgment, after which they escorted Diocles off the ship. The three men disappeared into the gloom of the narrow streets just as the first streaks of dawn began to light the city and its inhabitants began to stir.
Rostam and Junayd spent the next hour talking to Dimitri about what they had heard, but came to no conclusions as to how to deal with the pending threat. They did, however, agree that they needed to leave Famagusta very soon.
Dimitri departed, promising to keep them informed, that was if his spy, the boy Siranos, had survived the latest shambles at the palace. They bade one anther an emotional farewell. As he embraced Rostam, Dimitri muttered in his ear.
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